


Déjà Vu

by gayzsasz



Series: A Fate Resigned [5]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Do i need to tag this major character death for what happened in the last installment?, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Well it still holds true
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 13:46:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18852292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayzsasz/pseuds/gayzsasz
Summary: Did it count as Déjà vu when you actually lived this moment before?Nearly everything about this was identical: the shadowy lair (this time an abandoned warehouse and not an excavation site), the deaths of their fellow officers caused by their poor choices, and the unfortunately familiar man who was pacing in front of them.“Isn’t this just… lovely.”Post re-unification between Gotham and the mainland, Jim and Harvey get captured by Jeremiah (again), only this time things don't end up quite the same.





	Déjà Vu

Did it count as Déjà vu when you _actually_ lived this moment before?

Jim pulled on the duct tape around his arms and breathed hard through his nose when they didn’t give in the slightest. He was completely and thoroughly strapped down to this chair, and when he glanced to his left he could see that his partner was in the exact same position. In fact, he and Harvey were in the exact same position as they had been months ago, when they’d ran in half-cocked and had gotten captured. Nearly everything about this was identical: the shadowy lair (this time an abandoned warehouse and not an excavation site), the deaths of their fellow officers caused by their poor choices, and the unfortunately familiar man who was pacing in front of them.

“Isn’t this just… _lovely.”_

Jim strained against his bonds again, this time out of instinct rather than an actual attempt to get free, but all he got for his troubles was having to hear that sickly snickering. Jeremiah’s amusement with their predicament—the one he’d put them into—was blatantly obvious.

Well, it wasn’t fair to blame Jeremiah for _all_ of it.

Although, he and his people had been the ones to capture them and kill the small military force they’d brought along as backup, it wouldn’t have been possible if it weren’t for their own shortcomings.

Five separate scouts had reported that Jeremiah was hiding in this old building not far from the area previously known as the Green Zone. All five had said he’d had a small squad to back him up, but nothing that the soldiers couldn’t handle. And all five had promised them that his guard was down.

All five had been wrong.

“Comfortable, _Commissioner?”_

That gave Jim pause. Not that Jeremiah’s knowledge of Jim’s new title made him nervous—it had been televised alongside with the reunification proceedings—rather the _way_ he said it. The thick layer of sardonic venom that seeped into every syllable spelled one thing for Jim: something bad was coming. Of course, in way, it already had.

“My most heartfelt congratulations on the promotion,” Jeremiah continued, his voice as acerbic as ever, “Although, I can’t help but wonder if perhaps the government would’ve been less receptive to you stepping up to the role if they had known the full extent of your wrongdoings.”

That caught Jim’s attention, and the expression on his face changed from cold hatred to wary confusion.

“What’re you talking about?”

Jeremiah blinked once, then twice, before his befuddled expression was paired with his hand slowly raising to his mouth and errant giggles slipping past his painted lips.

“Oh my, James. Do you really have _that_ many transgression weighing on your conscience?” A full laugh followed that before he continued, “I always suspected, but to have you admit it so _openly…”_

“God, you psycho, what is this all about? What’s your stupid plan this time around?” Harvey demanded, sounding more annoyed than scared. Jeremiah didn’t seem particular put off by his behavior—probably used to it at this point—but he quieted his giggling before he spoke again.

“My plan is this, Captain Bullock,” Jeremiah said as he gestured to the room around him, “Also, I really must recommend a change of staff. Your current batch of scouts are a fickle bunch.”

Jim’s hands balled into fists as he realized what Jeremiah was implying, but before he could truly lash out at him, his mind put the rest of the pieces of the puzzle together. If Jeremiah had paid off his people, that meant…

“You wanted us here,” Jim said, unable to keep the confusion out of his voice, “You got our men to bring us to you. Why?”

“Well...” Jeremiah looked at the pair across from him like it was obvious, “To kill you, of course.”

Jim and Harvey both inhaled a sharp breath at that—exchanging a quick look as they both mentally ran through ways to escape. Unfortunately, there seemed to be nothing that could get them out of this, not without help from the outside. Just like last time.

“I’ll admit, this is all a little bit more _dramatic_ than my standard fare.” Jim and Harvey exchanged another look at that one, although this one was pure incredulity “But, you see, I’ve been at this crossroad for the past few months. Kill you, or don’t kill you. Of course, mentally I knew that killing you would be the best moving forward. With you dead, I have much less to worry about from our city’s _truly proficient_ police force. A clean headshot through the window while you sat in that office of yours. Simple, efficient, and many of my worries would be over.”

“But…?” Jim said, not exactly wanting to buy into this madman’s game, but knowing that the longer he kept him monologuing, the better shot he and Harvey had at getting out of here.

“But, in my heart, in my very _soul,_ I knew that I couldn’t kill you like that,” Jeremiah said, his voice getting lower as he looked at Jim with a burning gaze, “That you needed to _suffer_ for what you’ve done.”

Jim didn’t even try to escape the terrible glare Jeremiah was levelling on him right now, and instead just frowned before speaking softly.

“Is this about reunification?”

Just as suddenly as it had appeared, Jeremiah’s snarl disappeared and he giggled again. Although, that mirth never quite reached his eyes.

“Oh, Jim. You’re behind the times.”

Jeremiah didn’t elaborate further, and when he turned away, Jim and Harvey exchanged a concerned look. Neither of them had any idea what he was talking about, which made everything much worse. Whatever Jeremiah was up to—whatever was pushing him to do this—was unknown and unpredictable. That was dangerous from your everyday criminal, but it spelled disaster when it came from someone like Jeremiah Valeska. Rather than dwell on that thought, Jim quickly gauged the terrible situation and decided that the best course of action was exactly what they’d been doing before: stalling.

“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” Jim said, Jeremiah spinning back around to face him with an amused expression.

“Only one?”

“You said that the two choices you had were whether or not to kill us,” Jim replied, ignoring Jeremiah’s cheap shot, “You’ve tried to kill both of us enough times in the past; why was that even a question?”

For a moment, there was nothing. Then, all at once, Jeremiah’s expression transformed again and his dark red lips pulled into a ghastly smile. The kind of grin that spread so wide that it almost seemed impossible for it not to split his face in half. But, there was something… Something off about it. At least, off by Jeremiah standards.

Yes, his smile was an unsettling and awful, but that terrible mask of insanity stopped very abruptly when it reached Jeremiah’s eyes. Instead of that strange pale color being alight with manic energy like they had whenever Jeremiah enacted his plans in the past, they seemed almost… on edge? They weren’t the familiar shining eyes of a crazed man who thought he had finally conquered his enemies, but the darting eyes of a _nervous_ man who was expecting something. Something _unpleasant._ Like he was a child who knew his mother might catch him being disobedient at any moment.

But, just as quickly as Jim had observed these things, they were gone and replaced with what looked to be genuine pleasure as his eyes focused on something behind his two prisoners.

“Doesn’t matter now,” he murmured, just loud enough for Jim to catch, before he spoke louder, “Oh, how nice of you to join us, Mr. Cobblepot!”

So, Jim’s hope that tonight would end the way it did last time—Oswald storming in, guns blazing—had been pointless.

Jim and Harvey both craned their necks and watched as Ecco stalked towards them, carrying a machine gun in one hand and dragging a belligerent Oswald along with the other.

When Oswald had returned to Gotham, it had almost seemed that being out of Gotham had calmed him down slightly. Having the whole world available had sated his desire to conquer, the treasure he’d ran off with had kept him living well, and—according to the rumors—there had been no shortage of pretty men to keep him company. All of this had seemed to add up to a more relaxed Oswald, a happier Oswald. For the life of him, Jim couldn’t understand why he had even come back, especially since he ran the risk of being arrested for a plethora of things that he’d done while Gotham was cut off, including escaping with Nygma, Selina, and Barbara.

Those were thoughts that took him to dark places, though, and so Jim didn’t really like to linger on them; he’d locked away any feelings on the matter long ago. Rather than dwell on that, he focused on how Oswald was back in Gotham, how he had not been thrown in prison for his past transgressions, and how the city had clearly gotten back into his system because he was screaming bloody murder.

“He was sneaking in the back,” Ecco called over the sound of Oswald’s irate shrieks, passing the gun over to Jeremiah before turning back to Oswald, who hadn’t stopped his nearly incomprehensible swear-filled rant since they’d entered the room. That and the threats of a painful death didn’t seem to dissuade Ecco, because she handcuffed his arms around the nearby support pole without a second thought.

“Thank you, Ecco,” Jeremiah said, Jim unable to ignore that his words were the politest he’d ever heard him direct at his assistant.

“No problem, J. Easy-peasy,” Ecco replied causally, before they turned their attention back to the fuming man they’d taken captive.

“I’m going to skin you _both,”_ Oswald hissed, Ecco and Jeremiah looking at each other before both giggled slightly; only enraging Oswald further. Jeremiah quelled his laughter before he took a few steps closer to him; leaning forward as if he was about to share a secret for only the two of them, even though everyone in the room could hear him just fine.

“You already your chance, Mr. Cobblepot. Don’t you remember?” He asked, his genuine tone causing Oswald’s expression to twist into a terrible snarl, “And you choose not to kill me. I still don’t fully understand that one myself.”

“I won’t make that mistake twice,” Oswald spat out in response, confirming what Jeremiah had just alleged. Jim and Harvey exchanged a confused look. Oswald was many things, but he wasn’t merciful, and he also wasn’t the type of person that would try to throw in his lots with Jeremiah Valeska. With those two possibilities ruled out, his reasoning behind leaving Jeremiah alive was a complete mystery to the two detectives.

In response to Oswald’s sharp words, Jeremiah just snickered appreciatively and nodded slightly.

“I don’t doubt your conviction,” he replied in his familiar condescending tone as he began to wander away from Oswald, “Consider tonight my repayment for your _previous compassion._ I have no intention of killing you, Mr. Cobblepot. I’m simply going to keep you here until Gordon and Bullock are dead. I won’t have you alerting your allies and ruining the fun, after all.”

“How kind of you,” Oswald said through clenched teeth.

“It really is,” Jeremiah agreed, before turning his attention back to the two men strapped to chairs, Oswald pulling on the cuffs and hissing in pain, “Where was I, before we were interrupted by our latest guest?”

It was quiet for a moment before Harvey replied, his tone somehow more deadpanned than his expression.

“Murdering us.”

“Ah, yes. Murdering you both.” Jeremiah reached into his coat and withdrew a long, curved knife, “Well, I won’t keep you waiting any longer.”

Jeremiah strode forward and for a brief moment, Jim’s mind became frantic with more thoughts than he could handle. But, instead of offering up ideas of how to get out of this situation, all it did was give him flashes of his life, of his regrets. Of all the things that he was never going to be able to make right once Jeremiah completed his goal. Using his new role as Commissioner to help Gotham heal from all the havoc he allowed to be wrecked on it; finding Barbara and letting her know that he realized his mistakes, and hopefully striking some kind of peace so he could see they’re baby; reaching out to... God, there was so many things that he needed to fix or, at least, needed to _try._ But, he wasn’t going to get that chance.

“What’s the point if they don’t know why?!”

Jeremiah paused and flashed a dark look over to the man handcuffed to a pole, Oswald returning it, not with the fury he’d displayed just moments ago, but instead with a desperate tinge in his eyes. The kind of look that meant he was grasping at whatever he could in an attempt to save Jim from this fate.

“Take it from someone well versed in the art of vengeance, this means _nothing_ if they don’t know _why_ you’re killing them,” he continued, buying Jim a precious few seconds, “They are going to die thinking that they were taken out by a maniac for insane reasons, not regretting how they wronged you.”

It really wasn’t Oswald’s best, but Jim figured he wasn’t in any position to criticize.

Jim wouldn’t have been surprised if Jeremiah completely shrugged off Oswald’s words and went on with stabbing him, but to his utmost surprise, it was _quiet_ for a moment. Jeremiah looked at Oswald with an indiscernible look on his face and, as the silence stretched on, the only movements were his fingers, which tightened and then fanned out before tightening around the hilt of the knife again. Against all odds, it seemed like Jeremiah might actually be _considering_ it.

“I know you’re just trying to manipulate me into taking longer to kill Gordon and Bullock, giving you more time to figure out a way to escape.”

Oswald’s eyes dashed around the room nervously as Jeremiah revealed the true intentions behind his words in an instant. But, instead of disregarding the past ten seconds and carving into Jim as he’d planning on, Jeremiah turned away from his captives with his hands on his hips. And, even though Ecco stood there, it became abundantly clear that the words Jeremiah was mumbling were not directed at anybody but himself.

Jim couldn’t quite make out what he was saying to himself, and a quick glance confirmed that Harvey and Oswald weren’t sure either, but it was clear that it was a pleasant little chat. He was arguing with himself, probably over whether or not to take Oswald’s calculatingly timed advice. Rather than waste this time trying to catch a hint of what was being said, Jim instead tried to worm his way out of his bonds a little, given that Jeremiah seemed to be quite enthralled in his conversation.

“Uh, J? Maybe hurry up?” Ecco suggested, Jim pausing mid-wiggle when he realized her attention was directly on him. Jeremiah turned to her and, even though he could only see half of his face, Jim could see his dark expression and how he seemed ready to snarl at her. But, that disappeared in an instance and Jeremiah snapped his mouth shut as he seemed to almost _check_ himself.

“Just tell ‘em,” Ecco offered, rather than waiting the time it was going to take for Jeremiah to cobble together a response, “You’re wasting too much time doing this anyway. Plus, they’re going to be dead, so not like they could tell anyone else.”

Jeremiah was quiet again, this time as he seemed to weigh her words, before he turned on his heel and faced his captors with a haughty expression, like he _hadn’t_ spent the last 30 seconds having a hissy argument with himself.

“It would seem, despite the intentions behind it, that Mr. Cobblepot has a point,” he said, sounding like he did not want to admit that fact, “Interestingly enough, Mr. Cobblepot here is the reason you two are allowed a few more precious minutes of breathing, and he is also the reason I finally decided to kill you both.”

Jim and Harvey looked over at Oswald, who opened his mouth to say something to the effect of _“I did not tell him to kill you, I’ve been back in Gotham for less than two weeks,”_ but Jeremiah interrupted him before he got the chance.

“Don’t misunderstand, Mr. Cobblepot’s return to Gotham wasn’t the origin of my quandary, it was simply the final push I needed. The root of all of this lies with Bruce.”

It was quiet for one, dramatic moment.

“Well, obviously.”

Once again, Jim and Harvey looked over, both sporting incredulous expressions, only to have it returned by Oswald with one of his own.

“Please, name one of his schemes that _wasn’t_ because of Bruce Wayne,” Oswald spat out in reply to their disbelieving looks. Harvey opened his mouth to answer that rhetorical question, but nothing came out. The sound of a throat being cleared drawing their attention back to Jeremiah, whose annoyance with the interruption was palpable.

“Thank you for your input, Mr. Cobblepot,” he said before he continued on with an ever growing smile, “Yes, I am going to kill you because of Bruce. _For_ Bruce.”

“And you think he’ll like that?” Jim asked, “You think Bruce would be happy if you killed us?”

Although Jeremiah’s smile stayed frozen on, something twitched in his jaw.

“Sometimes Bruce is _blinded_ by previous notions and he has trouble seeing what the best course of action is,” Jeremiah said through his smile, “He’ll come around eventually.”

“Are we talking about the same Bruce Wayne?” Harvey asked with a little huff of a laugh as he sent an amused look to the two men on either side of him, before he refocused on Jeremiah, “That kid’s like a mule, he’s never changed his mind on a damn thing once he’s set it.”

“That’s not _entirely_ true.”

The smile that Jeremiah paired with that matter-of-fact statement gave his three captives pause. But, he didn’t elaborate on that point and, at the moment, it didn’t quite occur to them to press.

“But, I suppose I see your point, Captain Bullock,” Jeremiah continued, waving his knife around idly as he spoke, “Bruce is quite tenacious when he wants to be, and he would certainly never give up on a belief for any old reason. Take, for example, the whole Kean fiasco.”

All at once, the mood of the room dropped. Quite impressive given that this was a hostage situation with Jeremiah goddamn Valeska and the mood had already been _rather low._ But, just a simple allusion to that whole situation was enough to make Jim outwardly turn into stone, while his insides became a terrible hurricane of fury and guilt. Jeremiah smiled, clearly taking pleasure from Jim’s reaction, even though though his inward turmoil should’ve been completely concealed by his façade.

“Bruce held quite firm onto his principles that day, yes?” Jeremiah continued, his smile widening the harsher Jim’s glare became, “You speak so highly of Bruce’s moral fiber and yet, you punished him for sticking to it. You took away the man he considered a father.”

“How about you just _shut up,”_ Harvey spat out, doing his best to defend his best friend, “There was a scuffle and the gun went off, alright? It was an accident.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” Jeremiah replied as genuine as this man could muster, “I’m sure you never intended on ending poor Alfred Pennyworth’s life. But, you did.”

“Why do you care?” Harvey demanded, “You tortured Alfred.”

“It’s true that I never particularly cared about Mr. Pennyworth, but I _do_ care very deeply about Bruce. And I care very deeply about the pain that you have caused him.”

“And, what? You haven’t caused Bruce pain?” Jim said, forcing his voice to remain steady “Everything you’ve ever done for Bruce has hurt him.”

All at once, the amused exterior cracked and Jeremiah’s expression became a terrible snarl. He rushed forward and grabbed Jim’s hair to wrench his head back; holding his knife only a few centimeters from his eye.

“Don’t pretend that you murdering his father figure and _rejecting_ him from the last safe place in Gotham was _anything_ like what I have done. I will admit, _Commissioner,_ that my methods have had their faults, but everything I did was out of a desire to see him grow into the man I know he was meant to be. Everything I did was _for him._ What you did was for yourself, with Bruce paying the cost.”

A dreadful silence stretched on for a long moment.

“So,” Jeremiah continued, letting go of Jim and taking a step back as his anger changed from ice cold to something more manic, “When I saw all the pain you caused Bruce, it took everything in me not to kill you then. But, I managed to refrain. At least, I did until I saw _Oswald Cobblepot_ waltz back into Gotham. A man who had committed the same sin as Bruce, and who faced _no_ retribution for it. I _foolishly_ assumed that there would be some sort of consequence for him aiding Barbara Kean in her escape and running off to the mainland, but no, you welcomed him back with open arms. And that was a prejudice that I couldn’t quite _swallow_.”

Jeremiah then grinned and looked appreciatively at the knife in his hand.

“I _believe_ that’s everything,” he said before turning his eyes to Oswald, who looked more lost than ever, “Does that satisfy your requirements for a proper revenge?”

“Why?” Oswald replied, a beat of silence following as Jeremiah’s brow furrowed.

“I just _told_ you why,” he said, obviously frustrated although his smile never really disappeared.

“No,” Oswald shook his head before sending him a searching look, “Why refrain at all? You keep mentioning that all you wanted to do was kill Gordon, why didn’t you before I returned the Gotham? What kept you from killing him?”

“Me.”

Jeremiah’s expression dropped.

And, for the first time in a very long time, Jeremiah looked _scared._

Jeremiah stayed facing his captives for a few moments, seemingly frozen, and gave them all a fair chance to fully appreciate the abject _panic_ that had taken over his expression. This look wasn’t one Jim had ever seen on the face of the madman that had blown up the city, he’d always presented a calm and collected front. _But,_ he could recall something similar eons ago. When Jim had first ventured down into the maze and met a nervous young man who was well and truly terrified of his brother, none of them able to fathom where that night would eventually lead.

But, now wasn’t the time to dwell on the past, and instead Jim watched as Jeremiah plastered a smile on (it did nothing to conceal the frenzied eyes), before he turned around towards the unknown newcomer; his voice a poor imitation of innocent and cheerful.

_“Darling!”_

Silence. The kind of silence that made Jim wonder for a brief second if they’d all had a shared delusion and there wasn’t actually someone there. Jeremiah cleared his throat uncomfortably, but it was clear even from the back that he was desperately trying to keep his jovial façade up.

“I’m _so_ happy you’re here!”

“Please don’t make this worse by lying to my face any more than you already have.”

The act disappeared and Jeremiah’s shoulders slumped. But, that hardly registered to Jim, because now that this mysterious stranger had spoken more than one word, it was becoming abundantly clear that they might not be as mysterious as he’d previously thought. Their voice was familiar. Familiar in the kind of way that made Jim’s stomach twist.

But, his speculations were cut short, as the sound of calculatingly light steps echoed throughout the room and the figure stepped out of the shadows and into the light.

_“Holy shit,”_ Harvey muttured, summing it all up in one concise sentence.

 

_After the trying events of the past year and a half, in particular the untimely death of close family friend Alfred Pennyworth, Mr. Wayne has elected to take a step back from the public eye and focus on his own mental and emotional recuperation. He asks only that the wonderful people of Gotham respect his privacy during this time._

Jim had hated that official statement.

Sure, it was made up of pretty words that painted quite the sympathetic picture, and accomplished exactly what they were aiming for. No reporter could get too nosy after that without appearing truly callused, and so most simply wished him well and hoped that when he finally reemerged, he would select them to have the exclusive scoop. Perfectly executed.

That’s why it carved so deeply into Jim’s chest; this statement was cold, calculating, something written by a PR person at Wayne Enterprises. It contained none of the familiar stoic charm that Bruce possessed. Jim had been the one to take that from him. Jim was the reason this statement had been issued at all, he was the reason Bruce Wayne hadn’t been seen by the public since _before_ Gotham had been cut off from the outside world. He hadn’t been seen by _anyone_ —not Jim, not Lucius, not anyone—since that fateful day on the docks.

At least, not until now.

Because, immerging from the dark corners of the warehouse was a familiar young man, who seemed an inch or so taller and a little bit broader than before, wearing a black turtleneck with pants to match and an expression just as dark as his clothing choices. It was undeniably Bruce Wayne.

Jeremiah giggled nervously.

It was silent moment, all of them waiting for what would come next.

“Do you have a good explanation for why you did this?” Bruce asked, Jeremiah opening his mouth but pausing when Bruce raised his hand, “Excuse me, I meant a good explanation for why you did the _one_ thing I asked you not to?”

Jeremiah opened his mouth again, only this time nothing came out because he clearly had nothing to say. It was quiet for a solid five seconds before Bruce nodded slightly, not surprised in the slightest.

 “Darling—.” Jeremiah started, but Bruce cut him off; his icy front melting with every passing moment.

“I told you not to do this, Jeremiah,” he said, his words curling around the name with an ease that had not been present that last time Jim had heard him utter that name. This continued when Bruce leaned in closer and hissed under his breath, “We _talked_ about this.”

Jim frowned at that; Bruce swooping in at the last minute and saving them from Jeremiah was something he could grasp, but there was clearly something more than just a hero complex going on behind the scenes. At some point, likely in the past months since Jim had seen him, Bruce had spoken to Jeremiah. Not shocking, not really, but there was just something about it that Jim couldn’t quite place. Something about this confrontation felt _familiar?_

“He hurts you for _daring_ to not do as he said, but he forgives the _Penguin_ for doing the same thing. With the only difference being that _his_ was borne out of selfishness rather than morality?” Jeremiah replied, regaining his own fire, “I won’t let that go!”

“Even though I _asked_ you too?” Bruce replied, Jeremiah matching his angry snarl with one of his own “I _specifically_ asked you not to go after Gordon and Bullock!”

The two detectives exchanged lost looks when Bruce—the young man that they’d known since he was a child—flung his arm out towards them as he continued to argue with Jeremiah—a madman whose plans very nearly reduced Gotham to rubble—with such a strange cadence. Jim couldn’t help but feel like they were missing some important context for what was unfolding in front of them. The reason behind why Jim felt almost at home listening to these two at each other’s throats.

“I am aware, _Darling,_ that you asked that of me _._ You’ve only mentioned that fact forty times in the last _minute,”_ Jeremiah said, Bruce’s jaw clenching at his waspish tone. From behind Jeremiah’s shoulder, Ecco winced slightly, and her eyes darted around uncomfortably.

“I just wanted to make sure you didn’t hear me incorrectly, because that is certainly more easily forgiven than you consciously choosing to disrespect my wishes,” Bruce replied, Jeremiah scowling, “I thought we were past you ignoring what I say and doing things because you think you know what’s best for me.”

“My intentions were not to disrespect you. It was simple, Bruce: they cause you pain, and so they deserve to die. They could cause you pain in the future if they go on unchecked, and so they _need_ to die,” Jeremiah said slowly, everyone else in the room able to tell that Bruce was starting to really boil. Jim hated Jeremiah, deeply and truly, and even he had the sudden urge to tell him to shut up, because Bruce was about to blow his goddamn top.

“Don’t speak to me like I’m a _child,”_ he hissed, his fingers curling into fists; Jim honestly hoping he would finally throw a punch and release them from this terribly uncomfortable _(familiar, familiar, familiar, why is it familiar?)_ situation.

“I am just trying to explain—.” Jeremiah started, sounding dreadfully exasperated, but getting cut off before he could finish.

“Trying to explain away why you deliberately ignored what I wanted? Trying to use simple equations to justify your actions?” Bruce replied, his expression twisting into something terribly nasty, “You certainly put on a good show, Jeremiah, but clearly you’re still just the coward who locked himself away from the world for so long he forgot how to interact with others like fucking human being!”

It was deadly silent for a very long moment.

Jeremiah looked like Bruce had just slapped him across the face. He was well and truly _shocked_ by what had just been said, but it had not caught him enough off guard for the words to not cause pain. A surprising depth of emotions flashed across his pale eyes, but none more present than hurt. Obviously, Bruce’s words had carved deep, probably deeper than he would ever like to admit.

On Bruce’s part, his scowl remained, but the edge that it had taken when he’d spoken so harshly had dissipated. Like Jeremiah, it was easy to see the emotions flittering across his eyes, only the most notable one for Bruce seemed to be _regret._ It was plain to see, just at a glance, that he was second guessing what he’d just said.

Ecco simply looked at the pair with wide eyes.

The silence continued on for another moment.

“Is this…?”

All at once, every eye in the room was on Oswald, but he paid them no mind as he looked at Jeremiah and Bruce with an incredulous expression.

“Is this a lovers’ quarrel?”

_“Barbara, stop it.”_

_“Lee, listen to me.”_

_“O—.”_

_“Valerie, what are you talking about?”_

That’s why it felt familiar.

It was terrible, ridiculous, impossible, and any negative word Jim could think of, but he wasn’t blind. What was happening here with Jeremiah and Bruce was similar to what had happened with Jim and his partners in the past. They were prickly in the way couples often were in arguments and it had quickly devolved into a level of pettiness that only two people who knew each other well could get. And, _yes,_ Jeremiah was calling him darling

But, that didn’t mean anything. None of it did. All of Gotham knew how Jeremiah felt for Bruce, so pet names weren’t surprising, and whether they liked it or not, the pair had been friends in the past, so familiarity was simply an unfortunate leftover.

Yes, there was a passing resemblance to a couple’s spat, but at the end of the day that was ridiculous.  No matter that Jeremiah obviously had _something_ for Bruce—it’s not like a sociopath like him could ever feel anything more than obsession—and no matter that Bruce might harbor something lingering for Jeremiah—things had been different before, and what had happened since had eliminated any chance of there being something more. After what Jeremiah had done, that idea was absolutely ridiculous. It just was. Bruce would never do that. Bruce would never consider that. Bruce would never… Bruce couldn’t… Bruce didn’t…

Bruce didn’t deny it.

Instead, Bruce and Jeremiah exchanged a loaded look—seeming to come to an agreement on something for the first time since Bruce had entered the room (the first time since Jeremiah had revealed who he truly was)—before Bruce brushed past him and over to Ecco. She was doing a bad job of acting like she hadn’t just been awkwardly listening to them air their dirty laundry, but when Bruce held his hand out and politely asked, she handed over the key without hesitation.

“I am sorry for whatever grief Jeremiah brought you before I arrived, Mr. Cobblepot,” Bruce said almost _casually_ as he crossed the distance and began to unlock the cuffs, “I hope this doesn’t sour your return to Gotham too much.”

“Well, it’s not Gotham if someone isn’t pointing a gun at you,” Oswald replied, a little lost, but also a little cheery. A little _too_ cheery given the current circumstances.

“Hey, excuse me, real quick, _what the hell?!”_

Although Jim had been at a loss for words, Harvey was decidedly _not._ His sharp words immediately gained him the attention of the whole room, but his focus was _decidedly_ on Bruce. Jim had always been closer to Bruce, but it would be disingenuous to act that Harvey hadn’t been there since the very beginning. Since the alley.

Bruce’s stoic expression was like a locked door in response the Harvey’s open confusion. He gave nothing away as he returned the veteran cop’s gaze, almost like he was daring him to continue, and Harvey Bullock was never one to back down from a challenge.

“Where the hell have you been for the past five months?” He demanded, Bruce’s expression remaining unreadable, “Never occurred to you to drop your old pals at the GCPD a line and let us know you weren’t dead in a ditch somewhere? Or were you to busy having friendly chats with Jeremiah Valeska?”

“We’re not friends.”

Bruce’s prompt reply caught them all by surprise, but Harvey nodded slightly; clearly feeling like he was getting somewhere with this kid.

“Well, I would hope so, seeing how he’s the reason Gotham’s been a warzone for the past year and a half.”

It was quiet before Bruce responded. This time, though, he didn’t stare down Harvey until he felt pushed to say something. He also didn’t reply immediately. No, instead Bruce did something that he hadn’t since he’d first entered this warehouse.

He smiled.

“I wasn’t talking about Jeremiah and I.”

How many times had Bruce appeared in the GCPD lobby, ready to help Jim with whatever crises was happening? How many times had Jim had to tell Bruce to stay out of an active investigation? How many times had Jim sat at the Wayne dining room table and had dinner with Bruce across from him?

Of course, all those scenarios had one constant, and Jim had ripped that away. Was it any surprise that had destroyed whatever connection there’d been between him and Bruce? No matter how much Jim hated it, it made sense; Bruce was no friend of the GCPD and certainly no friend of his.

“Although…”

Again, a first; Bruce’s voice was hesitant. Despite his cool exterior, it was clear from just that word. He was weighing his options.

Then all at once, none of that mattered.

Because, for the first time after long months of guilt keeping him awake at night and worry infiltrating his every thought, Jim locked eyes with Bruce.

Finally, _finally,_ Jim looked right in the eye of the man who he’d hurt so deeply. A large part of him had dreaded this moment, but another part knew that it was for the best. Maybe he’d finally be able to set this right. He couldn’t make it better, not by a long shot, but he could maybe say something—anything—that would make it easier on the both of them.

But…

It…

There was something wrong.

It used to be that when Jim looked at Bruce— _really_ looked at him—all he’d end up seeing was the scared child sitting on a fire escape in that alley. It wasn’t that he was blind to the man that Bruce had become, it was just… He still had the eyes of the kid Jim had met that night, the kid Jim had learned to love over the course of trying to find his parents’ killer. He could age and he could change and his eyes could harden, but they’d always be familiar. They’d always be Bruce.

But, they weren’t any longer.

Jim didn’t recognize the man who stood only a handful of feet away. Sure, he looked like Bruce and talked like Bruce, but those eyes didn’t belong to the Bruce that Jim knew. Jim couldn’t even put words to what was wrong, because he truly couldn’t get a read on them. They were completely indecipherable, like words written in a different language. In the past, Jim had always been able to judge Bruce’s internal monologue; he was a stoic kid, but he was passionate. He couldn’t hide his true emotions, not from Jim.  He hadn’t wanted to. But, now… Now there was simply nothing for Jim to see, no matter how desperately he searched. He wasn’t allowed that privilege anymore, not after everything he’d put Bruce through.

While Jim fumbled, looking for something—anything to point to this young man being the same one that had stood between him and Barbara months ago, Bruce’s attention slid off of him and onto Jeremiah.  He’d obviously been searching for something when he’d looked to Jim, and he seemed to lose all interest in him once he’d found it.

Jeremiah had been avoiding eye contact as a part of his sulking, but he only hesitated for a moment before returning Bruce’s gaze. Their expressions were indecipherable—Jeremiah had always been hard to get a handle on, and obviously Bruce wasn’t up to allowing Jim access into his head anymore—but as they looked at each other, Jim got the distinct feeling that it was only the outsiders who couldn’t tell what was going on.

The moment that passed between the two was very brief, but whatever needed to be communicated was gotten across because Jeremiah began to shed his mopey body language and stand a little taller. A slight curve to his lips letting everyone know that he was quickly bouncing back.

At first, it seemed that this interaction had no effect on Bruce—his expression stayed the same and his body language wasn’t altered in the slightest— but then, all at once, everything changed.

With those familiar light but deliberate steps, Bruce crossed the distance to stand in front of Jeremiah. He was close, _too_ close to him, but even so he didn’t break eye contact once. Jeremiah wasn’t put off by the lack of personal space either, because rather than moving back or looking away, he simply gazed at Bruce inquisitively. Evidently, he wasn’t sure where this was going either, but (unlike Jim or Harvey) he wasn’t uncomfortable or concerned, just interested in what Bruce would do next. That shouldn’t have been surprising, though; Jeremiah had always been fascinated by Bruce. Probably because he could never predict what he would do. And, at this moment, Jim understood slightly. He never in a million years could’ve guessed what Bruce would do. What Bruce would say.

“He’s not my friend either.”

Bruce was the one to reach out first, but Jeremiah met him halfway; the pair interlocking their hands without a moment of hesitation. Jeremiah grinned, looking more pleased than Jim had ever seen, and although he didn’t match his intensity (no one could), Bruce smiled back.

Bruce was the one to disrupt the (terrible, horrible, awful) moment, with soft words that were undoubtedly much nicer than whatever expletive Harvey or Jim would exclaim when they got their voices back. But, just because they were gentle, and clearly weren’t intended for anyone other than Jeremiah to hear, they were like a punch in Jim’s gut. Somehow just as painful as the sight of Bruce taking Jeremiah’s hand in his own.

“Let’s go home.”

Bruce didn’t wait for Jeremiah to reply, and instead tugged him along towards the exit. But, Jeremiah didn’t seem to mind, as he soon kept pace with Bruce as the pair walked away from Jim and Harvey.

The blood in Jim’s ears rushed loudly. So loud that he could barely hear a thing that happened around him. He couldn’t fault himself for it, though; everything had changed in the past minute and a half. Reality seemed to have been turned upside down as he took in the sight of that young man he’d met all those years ago in the alley holding hands with the crazed man that had done everything in his power to destroy this city.

“I’m still mad at you,” Bruce said, Jeremiah sighing as he opened the door and Gotham sunlight streamed into the warehouse.

“I’m aware, Darling.”

**Author's Note:**

> Not a lot of Jeremiah/Bruce but I have plans for the next installment and that one is going to have a lot.


End file.
